love
by F.Vikus
Summary: You bleed, and then you pick yourself up. slash JackBobby


**67 - love**

**AN: not mine etc. slash, jack/bobby. **

**Summary: **You bleed, and then you pick yourself up.

Jack remembers love like he remembers hate. He remembers cowering under beds, praying that _he_ wouldn't find him. Remembers days he didn't get to eat, remembers cold days, days where he hurt so much he couldn't move from the floor.

He remembers the day Evelyn took him in.

But clearer than all the rest, he remembers the way Bobby loves him.

He was maybe seventeen. Or sixteen, or fifteen, and he was young and stupid. Bobby had left town months back, and Jack hadn't seen or heard from him. He got in fights, and it was his own damn fault anyways, not paying off his old drug debts and all. He refused to get his mother involved, and stayed at the mall and places with plenty of people. He only headed home just as it began to get dark, and he took the bus. After dealing with his parents and his foster parents, he was pretty good at protecting himself. He fought like the devil was trying to steal his soul, and in a way, he was. But when you get jumped, it's a different story altogether.

He got jumped.

Then he got the shit kicked and beat out of him, and he was pretty sure whoever jumped him used a bat or something equally heavy. They didn't take anything other than his dignity. He laid there, clinging to the pavement, the shock and familiarity of the beating coming back to him. His father, the one Jack got half his DNA from, screamed at him from inside his head, "you bastard get up you fucking pussy I shoulda killed you when you were born –"

He finally garnered enough strength to haul his battered body home, bleeding out in rivulets on the sidewalk. He was only thankful that he'd told Evelyn that he was gonna stay over at a friend's house. At least she wasn't out frantically looking for him.

The air swam away from him, away from his lungs, and when he finally collapsed through the back door, his shirt and jacket was soaked in blood. He couldn't let Evelyn find him in the morning like this, so he gingerly took his jacket off, wincing at the movements, and held it to his head. He limped his way through the kitchen before reaching the living room.

Where Bobby was.

Bobby sat there, face highlighted by the TV, feet up on the coffee table.

"Bobby? What are you –?" That was all he got to before dizziness over took him and Jack collapsed.

--

When Jack woke up, he was in a hospital bed, head stitched and bandaged and anything else wrapped, Bobby was in the corner of the room, sprawled in what looked to be the most uncomfortable armchair ever, but wide awake, and watching him.

"You're awake," Bobby said flatly.

"Bobby," croaked Jack. He winced at the sharp pain in his ribs. Bobby rose suddenly, looking concerned.

"Don't move," Bobby frowned. "You've got broken ribs." He pushed his eyes with his fingers and sat back down. "And internal injuries, and a mild concussion and bruises and cigarette burns and –"

"I bled all over the house," Jack whispered, a little more guiltily than he should've been.

"I know," Bobby said. "I called Angel. He cleaned it up before Ma got up." He shook his head. "God, Jackie, what did you do?"

Jack closed his eyes. "I didn't pay off some debts," his voice small.

"Your drugs." Bobby's voice hardened.

At that moment, Jack felt Bobby's disappointment, and he wanted to crawl into himself.

"No!" Jack's eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up. "No, no, no. I stopped using, Bobby. I swear." He fell back down into the sheets, breathing hard. "I swear. I just owe them money." He closed his eyes, could Bobby's eyes burning into his face. "I owe them," he said quietly, ashamed, "for the drugs."

Bobby stood up, face impassive. "How much do you owe?"

Jack looked away. "Five hundred."

"Why didn't you say something to Ma?"

"I didn't want to get Mom involved," cried Jack.

"Ma's always involved, whether we like it or not." Bobby put his jacket on.

"Where are you going?" Jack felt like crying now, but it hurt to even breathe, let alone sob.

Bobby must've noticed, because his voice softened. "I'll come back, Jackie." He smoothed down Jack's hair and smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. "Get some rest."

Then he left.

--

Bobby wasn't back the three hours later when Jack woke up. Jack cracked his eyes open, slowly, the light assaulting his senses. Bobby's empty chair came into view, and Jack couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that Bobby hadn't returned.

_What did you think?_ Jack thought_. It's your own damn fault anyways. Why would he come back?_

He turned to the side, pressed up against the railing. It was his fault, and now Bobby would leave (_forever_) and Jack felt grief, felt the self-hatred wake up.

That was when someone lit a fire inside him. Jack gasped as the first wave of pain hit him, a slow burn inside, crawling up his throat. Then they came, quickly and quietly like waves, and all Jack could do was lie there.

--

He was burning alive. Jack stared at the ceiling, at the nurses trying to hold him down. He needed Bobby. He needed Bobby to tell him that he'll be okay.

"Bobby," Jack sobbed. He thrashed around some more. "Bobby."

And then there was a shadow at the door.

"Bobby," whispered Jack, and twisted up in the bed.

"Hey, you little fairy," Bobby caught Jack's flailing hand in his own and gripped it tight. "I'm right here."

"I'm on fire," Jack gasped, choking on his own tears. He closed eyes and tried to scream, but it lodged in his throat. "Bobby."

A nurse looked at Bobby desperately. "If we can't get the needle in, we can't help him."

"Jackie," said Bobby, "you gotta stop moving. They can't stop the pain with you movin'."

Jackie rolled his head to the side. "Don't let me go." He stopped thrashing, his face going pale with the pain.

The nurse pushed her way past Bobby to inject morphine into Jack. "Almost done," she said.

Bobby squeezed Jack's hand for reassurance, but Jack merely looked at him with glassy eyes. "Sorry," he whispered, before going limp.

--

It was dark when Jack came too. His head throbbed viciously, and he was cold. There was a light out in the hallway from the nurses' station, and Jack could faintly make out Bobby in the plastic chair in his room. He was asleep, head propped up by a hand. Jack shifted, felt muscles pull and bones protest. The morphine had been good, stilled the pain for a bit, but now he just felt exhausted.

"You're awake." Bobby got out of his chair, and slowly made his way over to the bed.

The light from the hall hit the side of Bobby's face, and Jack caught in Bobby's appearance. There was a cut above his right eye, blood dried now. It was superficial, but those were always big bleeders. His hands were red and scraped, swollen around the knuckles. There was a bruise near his hairline, another at his jaw. Jack realized Bobby had been favoring his leg as he walked.

"What…" Jack tried to sit up.

Bobby's mouth was set into a thin line as he gently pushed Jack back down. "No more debts, Jackie." He looked straight into Jack's eyes. "Free."

Jack could only stare. He didn't understand. He wasn't worth it at all. He got himself into trouble and was a walking mess. And here was Bobby, unrelated in all ways except on paper, ready and willing to pull him out.

At this, Jack began to cry, silently. He closed his eyes. "Bobby, why? I'm not worth it." He hurt all over, on the outside, on the inside.

"Don't you ever say that. Ever." Bobby sat heavily on the bed and smoothed Jack's hair back. "You're not worthless. Not now. Not back then." He smelled of blood and metal, and Jack faintly remembered a time before Bobby, where the blood was his own.

"You're not worthless to me," Bobby said, quietly, fingers idly drawing patterns in Jack's tears.

Jack could never measure the extent of Bobby's love, because he knows there's no extent at all.

---

**part of slash100.**


End file.
